


The Trickster

by RiaTheDreamer



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: A theory fic for s17, And will probably get jossed by s17, Angst, Everyone is trapped in their own worst universe, Family Feels, Friendship, M/M, Mentions of Character Death, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 14:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17941139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiaTheDreamer/pseuds/RiaTheDreamer
Summary: Before everything fades into white, Genkins’ loud laughter lets them know that he isn’t done toying with them just yet.





	The Trickster

Before everything fades into white, Genkins’ loud laughter lets them know that he isn’t done toying with them just yet.

* * *

There’s a certain rhythm in Blood Gulch. Simmons has almost forgotten it – it’s been replaced by one disastrous disaster after another, broken rules of physics and broken bones and broken hearts, and somehow laughter and a brief moment of calm at the end.

At least Blood Gulch is a limited setting with limited faces to acknowledge. It is small and relatively safe and probably boring but still preferable to the near-death experiences that have become their new field trip by now.

So Simmons wakes up and knows what to do. It’s morning. The alarm clock on his bed table tells him as much. 8am. Time for pre-breakfast exercises. Normally he’ll take a run, from Red Base to the memorial and back again, but today he decides to let the leg muscles rest.

Simmons lies down on the clean floor and takes a moment to enjoy the cool sensation through his thin night shirt.

It’s a brief comfort that is quickly replaced by the burning sensation in his abdomen as he tenses his muscles and sits up, hands folded behind his head. He inhales, sees the empty bed attached to the other wall of the bedroom. He exhales, sees the shiny metal ceiling.

The bed is made. The ceiling has 6 tiles from this position. The sheet is all cleaned. There’s cobweb in the corner near the window. The bed is-

He freezes, muscles burning as his head is at level with the bed. The empty bed. The bed that doesn’t have an owner and that is-

Simmons blinks before raising his hands before his face. The nails are clean. The skin is pale, with freckles decorating it, crawling all the way down his index finger.

His hands-

They are his hands. Both of them.

Simmons twists his left hand, raises it towards the ceiling with the flesh of his palm facing upwards.

His left hand…

“Grif,” he whispers, because it is the fatass who owns the bed and the hand that listens to Simmons’ commands and clenches into a fist.

“You finally remembered!”

The bed is no longer empty. An armored figure – _Genkins_ , Simmons remembers, and he is stunned of how he even forgot the name in the first place.

It’s all coming back to him now – the flashing, bright light before everything faded away…

“Took you too long, old pal,” Genkins tells him with a grin in his voice. “But still – you are the first one of your little gang to figure it out!”

“What did you-“ He blinks, tries to see things more clearly. “Did we- did we go back in time-“

The memorial, he thinks, and it’s a conflicting thought. He knows it’s there; that they buried Grif in the Eastern side of the gulch where the earth was the softest, and that he runs past it three times a week.

But he also knows that Grif is alive; he saw him right before everything turned white. He’d been reaching for him…

“What did you do?”

“Ah, wrong question. What did _you_ do?” He tilts his head back and laughs. “Since I’m a god now, I figured I should teach you some valuable lessons! Make you a better version of the pathetic beings that you are. A new universe offers a whole new set of possibilities! A whole new set of choices! So tell me, Simmons, _what did you do_?”

Simmons, being smart, needs only a second to figure it out.

“I didn’t save Grif,” he whispers in horror, “I didn’t want to become a cyborg.”

“It never hurts to be selfish, Simmons,” Genkins leans forward to tell him. “But it does have consequences. Have a good life.”

Then he is gone.

Simmons looks at his own shaking hands.

Then he turns his stare upon the empty bed.

* * *

Caboose is building something. He isn’t sure what he is building, but it’s something. And if it isn’t something yet, it’ll become something eventually.

The screwdriver rests nicely in his hands now. Not like all the times it’s slipped.

It feels good now. Right. Even if the screw isn’t the right size, and the metal gets more and more dented beneath his hands.

It doesn’t speak to him. That frustrates him. He’d liked it when Church told him what to do. He misses Church. It’s nice to know if what you are doing is right or a very big screwup.

He doesn’t know where Church is. The Reds say he is gone, but he doesn’t see the Reds much. They are on the other side of the canyon and sometimes they come and yell at him, and it’s nice, because Church did that too.

It’s almost the same.

Except Church isn’t here.

The Reds aren’t either.

Someone is here, but Caboose does not recognize him.

“You’re kinda stupid,” he says, looking down at him.

The stranger is very strange. His armor isn’t red or blue. Everyone is always either red or blue.

“You really don’t understand it, do you?”

“You sound like Church,” Caboose says.

“No, I don’t! Not quite! Oh well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. You are missing him at least. That’s something. Even if you don’t understand the proper horror of what you’re done. The pain of dealing with idiots. It makes things less _fun_.”

Caboose loses his grip on the screwdriver as he looks upwards. “I like fun,” he says.

“Of course you do. Everyone does. But the fewest understand what true fun is.” The stranger hisses, sounding very angry. “But since you are not going to figure it out on your own, I have to tell you because I want _my_ fun. That little thing you are working on, well, it’s just that. A thing! Very metallic, sure, but it isn’t quite what you are looking for, am I right? And do you want to know why? Because you stopped to pick up that hollow shell of a body! And as a result, you got caught and they took away the AI unit! You let them take Church! _You_ did that! You stopped the entire plot from going on! You ruined your own little adventure from stopping it before it began! Because you cared oh so much about poooor Church that you forgot which part that mattered.”

Caboose stares at him until his eyes are dry. The man is still there when he blinks. “I miss Church,” he finally says, the pain in his chest letting him know that he is speaking the truth.

The stranger inhales deeply. “I suppose that’s the point of it all,” he says before turning around to leave. “Even if you are too dumb to understand the true beauty of my revenge.”

* * *

Junior is growing up so fast.

He can jump the entire height of Tucker which makes it very unfair whenever they play basketball. But at least he boy has a talent.

He can speak English now, too. Well, words, but sometimes almost sentences, and Tucker has seen babies back on Earth and he is pretty sure they suck at talking too.

And he is a hundred percent sure that no human kid can jump as tall as Junior.

“Father,” he croaks, and Tucker returns his smile.

“Right behind you, buddy.”

Junior runs to his room that the embassy has given them. It’s filled with toys, some chewed in pieces, other resting carefully next to his pillow. He’s a good boy. Tucker is glad they have been given this chance.

He misses the others, sometimes, a little bit, kinda. Not Caboose. Who’d miss Caboose? Besides, they are all having new lives now. Rat’s Nest, etc.

No one can blame him for moving on and-

“Oh,” Tucker says, eyes widened. “Oh shit.”

When Genkins shows up, Tucker takes one step to the left, blocking the path to Junior’s room. “Fuck you,” he says, reaching for his sword.

“Ah ah, don’t lose your temper now. After all, I gave you all this. And you seem _so happy_.”

Tucker wants to slice him open – and so he tries to, swinging his sword with an angry grunt. But Genkins is too fast now, appearing in the other end of the room before Tucker can even blink.

“I never liked my father, you know. But you two seem to get along great.”

“Leave Junior out of it!” Tucker snarls. “Where are the others?”

“I don’t know. Dead, probably. After all, you’ve never been the type to hide just how much you’ve carried your team. You are so capable, Tucker, I wonder how they have managed without you… Don’t you wonder too?”

“Fuck you!”

He can feel Junior move behind him, clinging to the doorframe as he tries to look at the stranger. Tucker takes a step backwards to try to force him back into the bedroom.

“But you turned out to be happy. That’s the true beauty of it all. Can you even wish to go back?” Genkins tilts his head, moving his stare from Tucker to Junior. Then he begins to laugh. “I’ll let you think about that,” he says before vanishing.

* * *

Simmons is acting strange again.

Nothing too worrisome. Just a tad jumpier than usual, but it’s enough to make Sarge’s trigger finger itchy. An anxious Simmons is a normal Simmons, but now he is messing up simple tasks and that’s not acceptable.

Not with this Washington lurking about.

Sarge can see him in the other end of the canyon, limping, doing his best impression of a needy stray cat.

Sarge has always been a dog person.

“Sorry, sir,” Simmons says and begins the report immediately.

Usually he’d have handed it in before breakfast, with a hand drawn diagram, but now Sarge has to settle without the analysis of the weakest area on a Blue body.

Sarge huffs and tries to find a solution to the problem. He blinks, watching Simmons practically lean over his desk.

Usually, it’s an easy deal. Grif isn’t useful for many things, but if you push him close enough to Simmons they will sort themselves out eventually. Like an old set of gear. Worthless on their own, but somehow making things work once together.

Grif isn’t emptying the fridge, which is a surprise, and he isn’t in his bed either, and at this point Sarge is suspecting sabotage.

Has the Blues kidnapped him? That’d be one way of messing with Red Team’s dynamic, though it would improve the overall effectiveness. Not to mention their food storage wouldn’t drop drastically for weeks.

Sarge grumbles and curses Grif for making things more difficult. The one time he won’t mind him in his field of view, and he suddenly vanishes.

“You’re a bit slow, aren’t you?”

He spins around, and the enemy is there. Not armed. Just staring.

“It’s Genkins,” he tells him. “If you can’t remember. Because you are doing an awful job so far!”

“Genkins,” Sarge says and it tastes wrong on his tongue. Like the word _blue_. So without hesitating, he aims his shotgun at his chest plate and pulls the trigger.

It doesn’t even get scratches. “Ow,” he says mockingly. “You get it out of your system yet?”

“Still got four rounds left,” Sarge replies and pulls the trigger.

And again. And again. And again.

“Well, this is boring. And I hate boring. So don’t worry; I won’t be staying for long.”

“Where’s Grif?” he asks, because if anyone is going to kill that idiot, Sarge is first in line.

“You are looking for him? Of course you are. Sorry to say this, Sarge, but you are getting a bit old. I think your team is starting to get worried.”

Sarge pulls the trigger again, but there are no rounds left.

“Well, of course ‘team’ is a big word. There’s only Simmons left now.”

Washington killed Donut. Sarge is aware of that, and he is going to deal with that later. But for now there is no need beating a man who already has cracked ribs and a broken shoulder.

And Grif is…

Sarge frowns.

“You are really making a fool out of yourself, calling for him. So let’s consider this a favor among friends. Just so they don’t think you’ve lost your marbles just yet.”

Genkins moves closer, step by step.

“But the twist is that this time it isn’t something you did. It’s something you didn’t do.”

Sarge remembers it – white, snow, silence, wave so far down beneath and no sign of orange – the same second that he is told.

“You didn’t look over the edge.”

* * *

Wash wakes up in a cell.

That’s nothing new.

He knows it by heart by now. He knows the amount of tiles in the ceiling, how to locate the cracks in the walls.

Breakfast is served at seven hundred hours. Lunch at twelve hundred. Dinner at eighteen hundred.

The guards don’t speak to him often. They just tell him to behave.

Wash don’t mind too much. He’s gotten used to the quiet.

He wakes up, stares at the ceiling, tries to train despite the limited space, then he stares at the wall.

Lately, he’s been doing more staring than training.

And one day, he wakes up remembering everything.

“Guys?” he asks, sitting up, only to face the fact that he’s in a cell.

Oh.

He follows the walls, tracing his hands along the cold surfaces. Nothing has changed. He’s still stuck.

And so the routine continues.

While he stares at the ceiling, he tries to figure out what has just happened. He remembers time travel. And the others. He remembers the others and that’s important.

Eventually, he understands that they must have travelled back in time. He’s still in his jail cell after betraying Project Freelancer and activating the EMP.

So maybe, if he has found the right logic, this means that he’ll have to do things over. He remembers what comes next; the Meta, shooting Donut and-

Maybe he can do things the right way this time.

If only the cell door would open.

It’s difficult to remember. Details slip and enter his mind without his control. Perhaps it’s a consequence of spending too much time staring at walls.

But he remembers the others. They are important. That’s important.

And then the stranger shows up. Wash can’t remember his name, but he knows that he shouldn’t be in his cell.

“You almost got it right, Wash,” he tells him. “But it’s not time travelling, so to say. You and your friends did enough of that already. Thank you for that, by the way. This is… different. Very different! That’s the point of it all! This is a new universe! All different! All new!”

“So you decided to lock me up?” Wash asks, frowning. It’s giving him a headache; dealing with this, remembering… Remembering…

“You made a different choice. Siding with the Meta, a few stray bullets here and there, yada yada. They promised you freedom, but they lied! Gasp! Project Freelancer has a tendency to lie, don’t they?”

“This is…” Wash says but trails off. This is bad; that he knows.

“This is what you get from trusting the wrong people. A painful lesson indeed. We all have to learn that you can only count on yourself in this learn. But it seems like your little flaw has followed you along into this universe. So who knows for how long you will remember this lesson?”

After Genkins is gone Wash goes back to staring at the ceiling.

Then he waits.

He isn’t sure what he is waiting for.

* * *

There’s a person near the shore.

Grif doesn’t recognize him, but he doesn’t attempt to do so, either. He just runs, as if his legs can’t carry him fast enough.

In his hurry, he doesn’t spot a ship, and this confuses him. He’s been searching for ships on the sky for so long. It only took months before he began to imagine them: black spots on the horizon that would never exist.

He stumbles the last distance, landing on his knees in front of the stranger who twisted his gloved fingers into his tangled hair. “Oh Grif,” he coos. “You are the first one happy to see me.”

“Ge-“ he says, but the word dies on his tongue. Remembering is so difficult now. Like grasping smoke. His thoughts are too scattered.

“Poor lonely Grif,” he muses, placing his hand on Grif’s scarred cheek. “I bet you are feeling reaaaaaaaaaaaaaally bad.”

“I didn’t mean it,” Grif gasps like a fish out of water. “I’m sorry. I don’t hate them. I’m sorry. Tell- tell Locus to come back. I was wrong. I want to come with him. I was scared, stupid- stupid, stupid Grif. Please let me try again. I can- I can-“

“Oh but, Grif, you already made your choice,” he says and shakes his head in pity. “You stayed behind. And you probably fear that your friends are dead! But do you want to know a secret?”

Genkins offers him no mercy as he tightens his grip to pull him closer. “They didn’t die! It’s much, much worse. They didn’t need your help. Locus saved them, they saved the world, you know, the usual hero story. They lived and forgot about you.”

A whine escapes Grif’s mouth.

“I should leave,” Genkins muses, “so you can continue your sad little life all alone. But still… I have a feeling you want me to stay? Don’t you, Grif?”

* * *

Doc works with a group of colorful Sim Troopers. They don’t always treat him well, and sometimes they say mean things, but well, bitterness goes a long way, he supposes.

He helps them, because he likes feeling useful.

And sometimes, when he is in a good mood, humming to himself, Temple will tell him it was a good thing that they brought him along.

It’s nice with the praise. Nothing like…

Nothing like…

The Red and Blues…

Huh. Doc frowns, feeling a sudden headache set in. He sure hopes it wasn’t meningitis. Nothing is worse than that.

Maybe flu season is upon them. He’d been sure to drink his orange juice this morning, but you can never be completely safe. “Hey, Simmons,” he says, reaching for the maroon soldier. “Have you felt strange lately?”

“What did you just call me?” Gene huffs, and Doc blinks; that’s right, he got the names mixed up.

Because… Because he stayed with the Blues and Reds.

And so the Reds and Blues have to be…

But that doesn’t make sense; that’s not what happened. Oh god, this is starting to seem like meningitis. “Oh, that’s not good,” he says, but the maroon soldier is already moving down the hallway.

The figure laughing behind him is wearing sage armor; very different, Doc has never seen anything like it before. Except he has; that is Genkins and they fought him back when… When they travelled through time. Which didn’t happen because the Reds and Blue are dead, Temple won – but that isn’t right, because Doc remembers-

“Hogwash,” O’Malley growls, setting his eyes on Genkins.

“Oh, you are the angry one now. Understandable. All those twists and turns, it really screws with your brain. That’s the fun of it!”

“You-“ O’Malley begins, but then he coughs, Doc returning in a flash. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“I suppose you are often overlooked. So I decided to be a good, worried god, making sure that you learn your lesson as well. I won’t forget you.”

“Oh? That’s- that’s nice, really, except I really should find the others-“

“The Blues and Reds? Or Reds and Blues? Or Blues and Blues and Reds and Blues if you are really shaking things up!”

As Doc backs away in horror, Genkins snaps his fingers. “It’s not a big difference, after all. You made your pick, and honestly, who can even tell the difference…”

* * *

“Faster,” Carolina gasps, “We have to move faster!”

But they are too late. She realizes this when she falls to her knees in the bloodstained snow.

She knows this is the place; in her mind, she can see how Felix had rounded them up, rifles ready to take the shot. But in another world, she’d arrived in time. She had infiltrated the mercenaries; she still remembers holding her breath as Locus walked past them.

And now-

“There are no bodies,” she says, hands digging deep into the snow.

On her shoulder, Church curses. He flickers twice before commenting on her observation. “They must have moved them,” he says. There’s no expression in his voice. All his anger and grief are shared with Carolina through the neural implants.

It’s painful and numbing all at once, and her fingers shake, snowflakes falling from them as she yells wordlessly.

When she finally finds the words, it’s “Not fast enough”, and she remembers leaning on concrete, watching Texas pick up the suitcase and-

Has to the be fastest. The strongest. The best.

 _I failed them_.

And still-

She gasps, remembering everything after; the battle against Hargrove, Iris, Temple, the armor lock, the time travelling, the AIs…

“This isn’t real,” she mutters, looking up to see Genkins. A growl escapes her throat as she lunges forward. Epsilon is quiet now, gone. She wonders if Genkins has the power to deactivate him. “What did you do?” she demands to know as he avoid her attacks.

“This is coming a cliché by now,” he hums with a sigh. “But you too deserve an answer. It’s not what _I_ did – it’s what _you_ did.”

“I-I got distracted,” she says, remembering now; another safehouse close by, wanting to grab more teleportation grenades, promising Epsilon that they would still make it in time. “You- This is not what happened. Take me back.”

“No can do!” he tells her with a smile. “This is a lesson. And you have a lot to learn, Carolina.”

She swings a fist at him. Misses.

“The first thing being manners,” he huffs. “At least be thankful that they died quickly.”

When she lunges for him, it’s like going through thin air.

Genkins is gone, and Carolina’s hands are empty.

They won’t stop shaking.

* * *

 He can’t get his hands on the pink one. He doesn’t know what his deal is. Maybe it’s because Chrovos made him a living glitch. Maybe it’s just because he’s chronic pain the ass. Maybe it was because he’d been too close to Chrovos when the Reds and Blues made their fateful move.

At least he is easy to find. Still stuck in Chrovos’ broken clockwork, in the empty space surrounding it.

It’s ironic that time doesn’t seem to exist here. A shame, too. Donut hasn’t been driven mad in time like poor Grif. He just seems bored. Distraught. Confused.

Not exactly happy to see him.

“What- what happened?” Donut asks him.

“Time broke. Woops. Your fault, partly. Decisions, decisions, and not enough time to undo them, am I right?”

“Where are the others?”

“Do you really think they want to see you? My, my, you really are naïve. But, well, they can’t. You can’t either. And I can’t do anything about it! Even gods have their limits, it would seem. Oh well. At least I can keep an eye on you here.”

The pink soldier wrings his hand. “But,” he says, “what are you gonna do? What am _I_ gonna do?”

“Nothing, I guess. Doesn’t seem like this place is a lot of fun. But I’m sure you’ll make the best very best of it!”

“But-“

“Tick tock, Donut,” Genkins says. “Tick tock.”

* * *

When he finally finds the little lightball it’s barely even shining. Barely even alive.

It looks like a lightbug that someone has stepped on.

Bupkins, Mupkins, something… A mugbug. But an important mugbug. An important mugbug thinking she is too important.

“My, you are a persistent one,” he says, swinging his head to trap her in the empty glass jar. She whines loudly; it vaguely sounds like Grif. It seems that they both share a favorite.

The mugbug slams against the glass, glowing duller at the contact.

“Not yet,” Genkins says, shaking the jar twice. “Let them have some _fun_ first.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday to Calliecat! I hope you enjoyed this piece that turned out too angsty, but I'm running out of time to post s17 speculation fics!
> 
> I know I didn't include Lopez, but well, he's a robot, and I do like the theory that the AIs are just messing with their implants, trapping them in false universes, so that's another reason.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Sorry for not being active lately. Things have been hectic. But a lot of one-shots coming up since apparently everyone has birthday in March, huh.


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